Sonata of Ages
by Chickahominy Creek
Summary: Chapter 3: Reno enters the story. “I like my victims to be awake when I kill them Mika. I want them to know who is responsible for taking their life.” rnrnThis story covers Cloud entrance into SOLDIER and the formation of the Turks as we know them. The p
1. Disclaimer

DL Noleek

Sonata of Ages

Tuning: The Disclaimer

This passage is meant to serve as a disclaimer for the entire Sonata of Ages. I do not own Final Fantasy VII (or VIII for that matter, for eventually this story will cross). All the characters, places, and events from the game are owned by SquareSoft.

With that said, enjoy the fic. Reviews are most welcome.


	2. Overture: Movement I

DL Noleek

Sonata of Ages

Overture: Movement I

"He was mine the moment you volunteered for this experiment. In a way, you are really no better than me." - Professor Hojo

18 years ago…

A solemn figure stood in the darkness, hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit streets of Midgar's fifth sector. The streets were silent and the time well past the midnight hour, creeping into the hours of a new dawn - not that anyone would be able to tell, seeing as no natural light ever came through the plates above the tiny area. The slums were the dumping grounds of the world, a place where most people fought everyday just to stay alive but refused to leave; either because they couldn't, or because they had no where else to go.

The man in the alley clutched a gun in his right hand, holding it up parallel to his face which was nearly hidden in dark hair that looked as if it had captured some of the city's black soot. It matched his black suit perfectly. He stood with his back against the wall, facing west, cool emerald eyes watching for something that he seemed to know was coming.

Behind him, wrapped deeper in the alley's shadows, a soft whimpering could be heard coming from a small child who was cradled in his mother's arms, the woman desperately trying to sooth the agitated infant. Unlike the child, the woman defied the darkness, refusing to become one with it. Her rich silvery hair shone with its own light, the darkness of Midgar refusing to touch it. She had covered the baby in the corner of what might have once been a white lab coat, now covered in the dirt from the bare ground. She held the infant close to her, tears running down her cheeks silently, escaping her sky blue eyes that were trying in vain to hold them back.

The sound of heavy footsteps neared and the man in black lowered his gun, turning off the safety mechanism as he did so. He stood ready, moving closer to the mother and child, struggling to offer more protection. The woman held her baby closer, a soft sob finally escaping her lips. Her pale face grew paler but her eyes held their strength still. Even when faced with the end, she held on to a dim hope.

The footsteps came closer and the man moved into the alleyway, putting himself between the alley's other two occupants. Several figures stood before the entrance, each in identical black suits that matched that of the emerald-eyed man, every single one holding a gun aimed for the kill.

"Why don't you just give up," came a voice from behind the soldiers. "I'll admit that you're very good with a gun, but even you can not stand up to a small army and still keep the woman and child alive."

He backed away slightly, lowering his gun. "Damn you Hojo," he muttered, his jaw clenching in frustration. "I will not let you hurt them!" With a speed that took the soldiers in the alley by surprise, the man rushed forward, sending off a stream of bullets into the crowd. Several of the figures fell to the ground, unable to hold back startled cries of pain, but it wasn't long before the dark gunman felt a sharp stab in the lower part of his own left arm. The pain forced him to the ground, dropping the gun so that he could clasp the stream of blood that was flowing steadily out of the other limb.

Several more guns were pointed in his direction ready to fire, and the man hung his head, the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth.

"Keep him alive," Hojo said softly, his voice drawing nearer. The man looked up and emerald eyes clashed with the black ones behind wire framed glasses. The scientist called Hojo smiled wickedly, a smile that held malice for anyone who happened to come under his care. "Keep him alive, I still have a use for him. I wish to exact my own little revenge on him for what he has done to my experiment. I assure you, he will trouble the Shinra no more."

Hojo moved past the fallen man and turned his attention to the woman and her child. "Such a beautiful child," he muttered, "he will serve me well in the coming years." He reached down and grasped the child under the arms, ignoring the wail as the infant is pulled from its mother's arms.

The woman struggled to keep her grip on her child, her face a mask of fear. "No please, he's just a child! Please to not take my baby, I beg you! I have served you for five years, does that not count for something? Can't you please let me keep my own child? It isn't fair!"

Hojo smirked, relieving the woman of her burden. "Don't worry, he will be well taken care of. In fact, you should be quite proud of him; he will become one of the most powerful men on the planet. Besides, he was mine the moment you volunteered for this experiment. In a way, you are really no better than me."

Hojo left the alley, making his way through the soldiers who already had the unconscious dark-haired man under control. Suddenly, the scientist stopped, turning back to the shuddering woman in the alley. "How pathetic. I have no use for her. Dispose of the woman." Turning back around, he made his way back to Shinra HQ, leaving behind the sound of gunfire and the cry of a desolate woman.


	3. Overture: Movement II

DL Noleek

Sonata of Ages

Overture: Movement II

"I can not let her catch me; they are both depending on me." -?

14 Years Ago…

Rain poured over the mountains of Nibelhiem, adding a sorrowful cast to what wass already a deserted and bleak landscape. The mountains towered over the rest of the countryside, their peaks reaching up toward the heavens as if straining to touch a forgotten God who had abandoned those living beneath His or Her careful watch. Beneath the mountains, a small town rested in slumber, quiet and peaceful, hiding its dark secrets well.

Along the mountain's side, a man ran to reach the summit, his small legs carrying him as far as they could in a very little amount of time. His soulful blue eyes were desperate, almost frantic, waiting for the inevitable with fear that he knew he must overcome. Reaching up, he brushed a stray lock of wet blond hair out of his eyes, trying to ignore the discomfort. His breath was coming in short gasps, suggesting that he had been running for quite some time, the sound of his footsteps pounding in his ears. In his other hand, he held a black ring that seemed to radiate with a dark force.

__

I can not let her catch me; they are both depending on me.

"Please, don't leave! She will catch you and kill you! Please!"

His wife's eyes, the same shade as his, had shone with unshed tears, wrenching his heart. Her eyes combined with her hair blond hair tousled from sleep, had made her seem all the more beautiful in his eyes.

He had pulled his wife into his arms, holding her sobbing form close for what was probably the last time, whispering comforting words into her ear and rubbing her back, trying to calm her.

"You know I must go Azure." He moved away from her a little, placing a hand on his wife's swollen stomach. "It is better to sacrifice one than to sacrifice all."

Azure had looked like she had wanted to break down crying again, but moved aside anyway. "May the Planet and Stars protect you."

And with that, he had left, leaving behind everything that he had ever loved and cared about to face what was certain death.

Finally, he reached the bridge and began to cross, but before he got his second foot on the boards, he stopped and looked back. The force that had been following him was close - to close - and with a sigh, he realized that he would never make it.

Moving off the bridge, he stood to the side, looking down from his perilous height on the edge of the cliff. Several rocks were dislodged from their place and it was several seconds before he heard them hit the ground below.

Gripping the ring more tightly, he cast one final glance at the town beneath the mountain before throwing himself over as well. Wind whistled through his hair, screaming as it flowed past his ears. He barely registered the pain as he made contact with the ground, nor did the blood that was seeping out of his broken body effect him.

Through his blurred vision, he could see the stars above him, stretched out like a shroud. The sight planted a weak smile on his dying face. He did not try to heal himself, although he easily could. He had come here searching for death, knowing that when he was gone, the ring would go with him.

At least until its next bearer came to retrieve the burden.


	4. Overture: Movement III

DL Noleek

Sonata of Ages

Overture: Movement III

_"Fool, your mother is dead, do you understand? She is not coming back, Tifa! They buried her in a hole in the ground, under the dirt! By now she has already returned to the Planet!"     _

_                                    -Alex_

11 years ago…

            He should have never been invited—it was a situation that had bent itself out of proportion and into his favor. They had finally spotted him staring through her window, his hands on the dusty frame, nose almost touching the glass. It hadn't been the first time he had lingered at that doorway into her world; in fact, it was something he did quite frequently.

            They all hung out in there, three boys and the one girl: Alex, Rin, Escot, and Tifa. He had observed them with critical, envious eyes, wishing she would allow him in, the little queen with her dark forest brown hair and equally dark fawn eyes. He could not count the many times he had dreamed of those slim fingers beckoning to him, or those full lips, red as ripe strawberries, calling his name.

            Dreams, however, always shattered and then reality would always make the executive decision to settle in. The boys would always catch him and chase him away, often forcefully. He had the cuts and bruises to prove it, though nothing had scarred as of yet (much to everyone's surprise). Yes, he could remember with little fondness the hair pulling, kicking, punching, knife wounds, and taunting.

            After awhile, he had gotten used to it.

            Then they had invited him on their adventure and despite his better judgment, he had accepted their offer. The Nibel Mountains, however, were dangerous, especially in the dead of winter. Perhaps what they needed was his help, someone who wouldn't squeal when all was said and done. No one was to know about this hazardous trek.

            When they had started out early that morning, Escot harping about the enormity of their dare, all had seemed well; it had even been somewhat exhilarating. Now, however, a cold sweat had begun to break upon his brow and he couldn't keep his breathing calm and even. The hair on the back of his neck raised a fraction and he shivered at every slight gust of wind. There was something wrong. Holy knew he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he could swear that this was a bad idea. He was constantly glancing behind him toward Rin, who pinned him with a glare from his vibrant hazel eyes. 

            "What are you looking at Strife?" he jeered after a while, his mouth curled up in a sinister smile. "One would think you were afraid. " He was very calm for someone who was walking up a mountain thousands of feet in the air, his rich voice a liquid iron tinged with a slight accent from the Gongaga Region.

 Cloud shrugged and turned his gaze on the powerful mountain top above him—now was not the time to start a fight. Not only would an all out war on the narrow paths be an act of sheer stupidity, but it would probably attract the unwanted attention of several Nibel wolves that he was not in the mood to deal with. 

It irked him that he couldn't pinpoint the cause of his unease. There was something about the mountains that just wasn't right and it made him want to flee in fear—and Cloud Strife was rarely afraid.

"Look!" Cloud raised his head to follow Tifa's outstretched finger. "It's the bridge, we made it!" Tifa turned back to them and grinned in triumph and Cloud inwardly groaned. She had no clue about the fight about to break out behind her or the force Cloud could feel working against them.

            _Well, at least she's happy. _Maybe he could just ignore the instinct to run and revel in her happiness. He would never admit it, but just seeing her smile put butterflies in his stomach. Cloud also had a feeling that if she were to aim that smile at him, he would be redder that the sky at sunset.

"Okay, so we made it, now what?" Rim moved up beside him and stared at the bridge, frowning. "That bridge doesn't look so sturdy."

Cloud had to agree. That structure had to be several decades old and he was sure that at least some of those planks were rotting.

"We have to go across!" Tifa stated in earnest.

"Why? I thought you said we would just come here and then go back. What's with this going across idea?" Alex asked.

            "My Dad said that my mother went into these mountains. I want to find her. I thought that she hadn't gone far. I didn't think she'd want to be too far away from Dad and me, but I guess I was wrong." Tifa moved toward Alex and looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

Cloud's eyes narrowed, glaring at the older boy, but he kept his mouth shut. He'd watch and see how things played out first. Now was not the time to cause a commotion. Alex was closer to Tifa; he would have better luck at talking her out of going further—he hoped.

"Alex, please! I need to see her, we have to go across!" Tifa's eyes were brimming with unshed tears, but still Cloud remained motionless.

Alex suddenly jerked forward, grabbing Tifa's arm and pulling her back. Rage mixed with fear marred his young face and he pushed her against the wall of the cliff, forcefully holding her in place.

"Fool, your mother is dead, do you understand?" Alex screamed, inching closer to her face with each word. "She is not coming back, Tifa! They buried her in a hole in the ground, under the dirt! By now she has already returned to the Planet!"

Not exactly the way Cloud had hoped Alex would handle the situation.

Tifa's silent tears had turned into wracking sobs and with one final burst of energy, she pulled away from her well-meaning captor, shoved him to the side, and made a break for the bridge.

            Cloud didn't hesitate this time, moving his small legs as fast as he could to reach the bridge before Tifa made it.  Alex and Escot jumped away as Cloud ran past, too surprised to stop the bundle of speed as he passed.

            He made a dive for her just as she took her fist step onto the planks, but only came up with empty air. Cloud felt himself fall and rolled forward, using his momentum to carry him closer, only a few steps behind the tearful girl. He cursed under his breath; Holy, but time was starting to come up short. A few more strides and she would be at the center of the structure.

            Before he even made it halfway across, he felt what he had innately dreaded—the sound of boards splitting. The left side of the bridge began to tilt dangerously upward and Cloud could almost see the frayed rope at the end of the bridge behind him being torn apart.

            Cloud mentally scolded himself for not acting sooner as he made one final dive for Tifa, this time catching her securely around the waist and holding her taller frame tightly to his chest. He felt more than heard the scream escape her body as the ground beneath them disappeared. Wind whipped against his face as he plummeted, his stomach rising to meet his throat as gravity brought them closer to the earth. Tifa was no longer a burden in his arms; her body was falling weightlessly along with his own.

            It was a fraction of a second that seemed to last forever, and then there was a loud crack and an instant of pain before the world faded into darkness. 

            _So light; _that was the only way he could describe the feeling. He could feel that there was some kind of liquid filling his mouth, but it didn't seem to clog his breathing—was he breathing? His heart had stopped awhile ago, the sound of its steady rhythm no longer pounded in his ears. In some part of his consciousness, he knew that there was something wrong with his limbs, but he had given up trying to move them—at least the pain had stopped. Until a few moments ago, he had been able to feel Tifa's weight atop him, the beating of her heart, but that too had left. Whether it was from the dulling of his own senses or from her weight being removed, however, he couldn't tell. All he could do now was float.

            He had never really dwelt much on death in his young life, despite his troubles, but he had always thought that it would be something agonizing and painful—and of course he was dying, how could he not be? This was nothing like his perception; it was just like that heady feeling between waking and sleep. If this was all death was, it may not be a bad idea. No one except his mother would miss him anyway—the spot Cloud Strife had taken up in the world was so small, surely no one would notice its absence. _Yes, sleep…_

_No._

            Cloud stirred slightly at the forceful voice, full of conviction and certainty. He  rose up to a level in consciousness and tried to discern whether or not the intrusion was real of just the fantasy of a dying soul. What remained of his rational mind was telling him that it was nothing, but then again, if his mind was going to slip in his final moments he really had no choice but to listen, right?

            His question was answered with the touch of a gentle, icy hand upon his face. It was only the barest of brushes along his left cheekbone, but the lifeless shell that used to be Cloud shivered with the contact. Okay, now it was time to come up with an explanation for that! Shiva, it was cold! Why could he feel that touch when everything else had ceased to alert his senses?

            There was another soft caress placed upon his brow; the hand, or whatever it was, remained there this time. The gentle voice came again—murmuring, soothing. The words were almost incomprehensible; there was some kind of accent in that voice that Cloud could not decipher. It was strange though, he felt he should recognize that lilt.

            Suddenly, Cloud felt his hand grasped tightly by another colder, larger, grip. Long and graceful fingers curled around his, strong despite their small shape and size. If he wasn't mistaken, he could also feel some calluses on those fingers but despite that, the grip was secure more than rough.

            The voice became clear again and Cloud suddenly realized why the words—no music, for that voice was singing!—had been indiscernible at first. They were not being spoken in the common tongue introduced by the Shinra after the take over of his mountain home, but in Nibiel, the area's indigenous language.

            And it was beautiful.

            The words washed over and around him like breaking waves wrapping him in their melody. Suddenly the melody split, the former notes retaining their echo and forming a chord—a melodic triad. The voice rose and fell, going up an octave only to descend again before breaching the next. The complex weaving of alternating melodies and harmonies was enchanting and somehow Cloud knew that if he had had enough air in his body to do so, he would have joined in and added his own voice to that woven tapestry of sound.

            Cloud was so caught up in the music, he never noticed that his heart had begun to beat again. He did not notice that particular change in his body until the pain hit. His body wretched when the first wave of shock rolled over him and the hand holding his squeezed tighter, as if it could erase all the damage to his broken form. Bones grinded together while splinters and joints were snapped back into place with agonizing speed. His heartbeat, which he had though gone, began to beat again and started to send blood rushing through his body in a torrent. He could feel the blood soaking his body now—he could feel as it dried up and wounds closed. 

             Then his lungs kicked in, begging for air—which Cloud gratefully took. The hand holding his released him and Cloud rolled over, spitting out blood in an effort t to clear his air passage. His eyes opened to darkness, but not of the eternal kind. Night had settled over the Nibel Mountains, a pale moon illuminating the broken bridge above him. _How long have I been lying here for? Better question: How did I survive that?_

He could see the dangling pieces of the bridge, there was just no way—

            Cloud whirled around, belatedly remembering his recent encounter and his clear blue eyes barely caught their match before they faded. Breathing became difficult again—the person who had saved him could have been himself ten years in the future except with straighter hair that reached to his mid-back and archaic, robe-like, clothing. His twin offered him a slight smile and then with a quick nod of the head in acknowledgement, he disappeared.

            It took a moment for everything to register, but once it did, Cloud jumped to his feet and glanced around the area in panic. His mind just would not accept what it had seen, it couldn't—but then how could it explain the healing?

            A glint of light caught his eye, like light reflecting off a mirror. Slowly, he raised his hand to look down at his right ring finger. Wrapped tightly around the appendage was a thin band made out of some kind of dark metal—obsidian perhaps? Whatever it was, it was etched with odd symbols that encircled the circumference of the ring, serif twining in and amongst serif.

            Reaching down, he tried to pull it off, but to no avail. The piece of jewelry seemed to have molded itself to his skin and for better of for worse, was not coming off any time soon.

            Cloud sighed, looking once again at the broken bridge above him. Somehow, he didn't want to know why he was still standing where he had fallen, alive and well. His mother was probably worried about him by now anyway; it had to be hours after sundown.

            With that, Cloud Strife turned away and began his trek down the mountains. 


	5. Overture: Movement IV

DL Noleek

Sonata of Ages

Overture: Movement IV

_"We may have lost the war, but we have not yet lost our honor. Wutaians are a proud people, and we respect strength."_

_                        -Lord Godo_

9 Years Ago…

            Lord Godo Kisaragi paced the length of the campsite in front of the great bonfire, black eyes narrowed into thin slits, his face as grave as a man who is about to walk to his own death. For the first time in three days, the rain had slackened, the clouds swept out of the sky to reveal the endless expanse of the black heavens—the moisture, however, still lingered, mingling with the blood of his people, both watering the soil of his homeland. The last battle had washed the mountains of Wutai red; it had been Wutai's last stand.

            Around him, the cries of men wounded in battle—many mortally—filled the night. Inwardly, Godo knew that he himself was on his last legs. The gash in his knee was causing some brutal pain and even after a full seven hours, it still bled profusely. Several of the medics had already offered to treat the wound, but he had fled his own bed in favor of tending his men. Cure materia had been hard to come by of late and what little they had could not be spared on him. The soldiers that lay upon the ground were his responsibility; already there were many widows who would soon be hearing of their husbands' demise.

            Had Leviathan, their great Serpent God, betrayed his people? Had they done Him some irreprehensible wrong? Or was it just their time?

            Godo stopped his pacing and looked up at the fires lighting the horizon—the light from the capitol city of Wutai. Despite his current predicament, Godo smiled. His wife and child were still safe behind the city's walls. Even if Leviathan had abandoned his children in the field, he had not condemned the innocent. The sorrow of the day lessened knowing that those he loved were still alive and safe.

            The people of Wutai would live, perhaps not as they had before, but at least they would live to rise again from the ashes—a small comfort.

            Soft footsteps approached him from behind. It was a purposeful tread and Godo did not bother to turn around and face the approaching figure; he already knew who was behind him. The footsteps were all too familiar. The general had given himself away, albeit intentionally.

            "I am surprised, Godo. I did not expect the Wutainese to surrender after so long a struggle." The voice barely rose above a whisper, but somehow the soft baritone had managed to rise over the din of the camp.

            "It was time," Godo replied, equally soft. "I am surprised as well, but not at Wutai's defeat."

            "Is that so?" The voice was closer now, only a meter or so away.

            Godo smirked slightly. The Shinra lackey had more confidence than Godo had given him credit for.

            Godo turned and was not unsettled when he saw a pair of burning emeralds boring into him, smoldering mako in their depths; he had expected as much. He allowed himself to admit that the gaze had frightened him at first. Those same eyes had stared down upon the Wutai regiment with terrifying flame before the attack that morning. Now, however, Godo was simply too tired to get any such thing from that stare. It was odd really, the closer he looked, the more Godo thought he saw a twinge of regret. Godo cold not disagree—it had been an honor to meet him on the field of battle.

            It would have been a greater honor had Godo fallen in that battle.

            "I thought we had you," Godo said, shaking his head. "We were so close!" he paused, studying the man—no, boy really, for he could not have been older than twenty—before continuing. "Somehow, you managed to change the tide of a whole war. For seven years, we were winning, and then you just show up and turn everything around."

            "I didn't do it alone. I brought three new squads of SOLDIER with me," replied the general, his face still a stoic mask.

            Godo couldn't help laughing aloud. "Oh, three! SOLDIERS are strong boy, but my warriors are far from inexperienced. No, it was you."

            "Why are you telling me this?"

            "We may have lost the war, but we have not yet lost our honor. Wutaians are a proud people, and we respect strength. Think of it this way, you fought well, I admire you for it." Godo sighed. The time for idle talk was over and it was time to get to the point. "It is why I surrender to you instead of one of your superiors."

            In the blink of an eye, Godo drew his sword from its sheath, raising it over his head so that the well-honed blade could catch the glimmer of the moon above. His guest immediately shifted into a defensive stance, his hand on the hilt of his own weapon. He never made the draw. His hand stopped when the Wutain lord sank to his knees, bringing the blade out in front of him so that the edge was pointed towards his own body.

            "I, Lord Godo Kisaragi, Servant of the God Leviathan and Guardian of His people, grant unto you this blade, forged form His fang. May you tread in peace over this land." Godo raised his head, his eyes grasping the general's green ones. He offered the sword, hilt first, to his opponent and then softly completed his duty. "Wutai is now yours."

            The general stood rigid for a moment before removing his hand from the hilt of his sword and reaching out for the proffered weapon. He removed it gingerly from Godo's hands.

            Godo rose, lowering his eyes slightly. He could only catch a glimpse of the surprise on his conquerer's face as he held the sword, balancing the blade carefully in his hands as he tested its balance and weight. Godo could relate; he could still remember when that sword had been offered to him. The power of Leviathan's fang was indeed awe inspiring.

            "I only wish we had met under different circumstances. It has been an honor Sephiroth, it truly has," Godo said after a moment. "Shinra doesn't deserve you."

            Sephiroth nodded, studying his new sword. "I know that your people usually name your weapons. Tell me, Godo, what do you call this one?"

            "Masamune."   

            Sephiroth crossed the bridge that lead back into the Shinra encampment, moving along the planks in a steady, fluid motion despite the wind that buffeted the ancient structure, threatening to throw him. His white hair billowed around him, tendrils of it surrounding him like a pale smoke; he was constantly having to brush it away.

            He had no sooner stepped off the bridge when a familiar bundle of energy ran toward him. No one would believe that Zachary Vain was a SOLDIER, much less a first class. The only thing that ever gave it away were the lightly glowing gray eyes, two little fires burning in the dark with an intensity that matched his own. Yes, the eyes were the obvious give away, but the body count Zack left behind was easily another, and perhaps more important, indication of his abilities. Other than that, however, Zack might as well have been some reckless recruit. His black hair, longish and spiky, looked like it hadn't been washed in a couple of days, nor had it seen a brush. He was tall with the build of a swimmer that was often deceptive in battle. People tended to underestimate Zack's strength—their mistake. He was also known for his easy temperament and his trademark grin that was, at the moment, plastered to his face.

            Normally, Sephiroth hated people who smiled too much, and how he ended up being on such good terms with the other SOLDIER was beyond him. Zack was a barrel of laughs most of the time and that was what had given Sephiroth some trouble in the beginning; people who laughed so much were often immature and incapable of handling themselves on the field. When Sephiroth had said as much, the smile had disappeared from Zack's face and the other SOLDIER had deemed it necessary to whack him over the head with the flat of his broadsword. Yes, that had most certainly knocked some sense of doubt into the general's mind, but it had been the scene after the first battle at Wutai that had changed his opinion. The sight of Zack standing in the thick of a bloody mess with Wutainese warriors at his feet, eyes blazing, had resolved most of Sephiroth's concerns.

            The young SOLDIER reached him in a matter of moments, slapping him amiably on the back. "Hey Seph, back already?"

            "Obviously."

            "They surrendered rather quickly, I was expecting the process to last until dawn at least."

            Sephiroth reached beside him where the Masamune had already taken the place of his SOLDIER issued weapon. The old sword had been left at Godo's camp; a poor trade, but a necessary one. He fingered the hilt carefully. "The procedure was relatively quick and to the point." It wasn't something Godo would have drawn out.

            Zack's eyes followed Sephiroth's arm down to the Masamune and his eyes widened. For once, his companion remained speechless, his brow furrowing in concentration.

            _Surprised, Zack?_

"They gave you a sword." His voice turned serious. "Why?"

            Sephiroth grunted. "I suppose it is a way of handing over power."

            "But why to you? That doesn't…" Zack stopped for a moment, his grin slowly returning. "Godo, that clever bastard; he did it for a measure of insurance, didn't he? Although they formally hand power over to Shinra, they symbolically hand it to a strong warrior. Godo keeps his people from being slaughtered, but retains at least a shred of honor."

_ I knew you could get it Zack._

            Slowly, Sephiroth unsheathed the sword and held it before his friend whose eyes were fixed on the weapon.

            Zack whistled. "Holy, that is one hell of a symbol."

            Sephiroth nodded in response and then fell into a fighting stance. Zack was right, the Masamune was a hell of a symbol alright. The balance was perfect and it wasn't too heavy or too light. The length and size of the hilt suited him perfectly. It was almost like someone had crafted the Masamune with him in mind.

The Next Night…

She sang her to sleep with the same song she had sung to her since she was a baby, her strong, slim fingers brushing away her dark hair so as not to cover a pair of gray eyes that were just like her own. Her lullaby was deep and somewhat sad, but it made her feel safe.

            Yuffie's mother was a goddess, or at least that was what her father called her—a goddess fallen to the earth. Her hair was longer than her own, the black velvet falling down to her mid-back whereas Yuffie's barely reached her shoulders. Yuffie loved her mother's hair, especially at night. During the day, it would always be tied up and pinned back, but when darkness fell, she let it fall about her like a soft curtain framing her pale face. She would let Yuffie play with it then too, holding her daughter in her strong arms while the small girl fiddled with the black strands until Yuffie fell asleep.

            She was doing that now in fact, but tonight was different. Tonight, her mother was squeezing her hard, nearly preventing her from breathing. Yuffie had thought of telling her to let go, but she seemed so upset—she couldn't say anything.

            Outside, a storm had picked up, sending rain driving into the walls outside her home. Was that it? Was Mother afraid of the storm? No, her nine year old mind dismissed that thought immediately. Mother was afraid of nothing.

            Then why was she crying?

            "Mommy…"

            "Yuffie please go to sleep," her voice choked on the words, but she drew her daughter closer. "Be strong for Mommy okay? Don't worry, it will be alright. We'll be fine, it…"

            She was interrupted by another sob and her tears began to flow faster. Yuffie tried to wipe away the droplets of moisture, but gave up after discovering that every drop she wiped away was replaced by about three more.

            Finally, Yuffie felt her mother's hold slacken as she was laid atop a futon and tucked in.

            "Good night Yuffie," she said, her eyes still a little moist.

            She paused for a moment and then left, walking through the open door and sliding it behind her on the way out.

            Yuffie remained still for several seconds, waiting until her mother's footsteps faded slightly before climbing out of her covers and running to the door, sliding carefully into the hallway. Yuffie waited until her mother rounded a corner before following, her small feet padding softly over the wooden floor.

            At the end of the hall, her mother pulled open the door, letting in a blast of cool air from outside. She looked over her shoulder one final time and Yuffie flung her body against the wall, hoping that she hadn't been caught so early in the game. Her mother must have missed her, however, because she was soon out the door and into the night.

            Once outside, she lead Yuffie for a run through the main street and across the bridge, taking a left turn immediately after.

            Suddenly, Yuffie found herself looking up at Da-Chao, the great mountain looming over her like a forlorn giant. Her knees were quaking and she couldn't suppress the shiver that raked her body. The rain was cold and she realized, somewhat belatedly, that she had walked out without her shoes; the rocks were sticking her feet with their sharp edges.

            The climb was hard on her tiny body and she was forced to make frequent stops along the path, yet she was careful to keep her mother in sight—though with the hard rain, it was a difficult to see her mother's thin form.

            Finally, the path she was traveling on ended; they had reached the top of Da-Chao. The arm of the final god carved into the stone was raised high in the air, overlooking the city. Her mother climbed into its palm, Yuffie following slowly behind. She stood there for several moments, her raven hair being torn by the strong winds.

            Yuffie stopped a few paces behind her, pausing just before she reached her, afraid that she would interrupt something she shouldn't. This woman could not possibly be the same woman who had tucked her into bed only minutes before. Physically, she looked the same, but there were several lines on her face that had not been there before and the air around her was so heavy, that Yuffie cold almost choke on it.

            The young Wutain's eyes widened a fraction as her mother moved to the very edge of the hand, her toes clinging to the rough stone. Her naïve mind could not fathom why, but Yuffie suddenly felt fear clamp down on her, cold and hard as the driving rain that soaked her night cloths. Something was wrong, and every fiber of her being was screaming at her to act. She just didn't know what to do.

            Yuffie ordered her feet to move quickly, despite the state of the ground they treaded upon. She had to get to her mother and time was not on her side.

            Finally, she staggered to the end of the rocky ledge, a mere two paces from the woman standing on the edge.

            "Mommy?" Yuffie's voice came out hesitant and choked. She found herself blinking away droplets of moisture that were clouding her eyes—they weren't from the rain.

            Her mother turned around slowly and Yuffie watched as her whole body went rigid, those gray eyes widening in pure terror. Her mouth opened and moved in a soundless whisper.

            Yuffie reached out, her small hand grasping for the end of her mother's robes. With Yuffie's advance, however, Lady Kisaragi took another step backwards, unsettling some loose debris that was sent spiraling towards the ground.

            "Mommy?"

            Another half step.

            A peel of thunder tore through the air, splitting the heavens in twine like the furry of a vengeful demon.

            Like a runner at the start of a race, Yuffie lunged forward at the sound, her tiny legs struggling to carry her to her mother as she fell. She managed to fling her arms around Lady Kisaragi's petit waist just as she jumped over the edge. Wind rushed past as she fell, blackness of an eternal abyss rushing up to greet her as she came closer to the Kingdom of Odin.

            Some kind of twisted logic told her that she should be afraid and screaming as loud as her lungs would allow because her short life was about to reach an abrupt end, but somehow, fear was not among the tumult of feelings that wracked her mind.

            As time became shorter, her gaze remained locked on her mother's face. That face held no fear, only a quiet courage etched with pride—a pride that would not be broken. No, like her mother, Yuffie could not summon a drop of fear. Instead, she felt a mix of sorrow and anger.

            Her mother's arms tightened around her and Yuffie felt herself pulled closer into her embrace. Milliseconds later, she felt the jolt as flesh hit earth and pain raced up her left leg.

            At last, she was able to release a cry as the blackness that hat threatened to consume her finally sucked her in like the pull of an ocean tide.


	6. Adagio: Chapter 1: Cloud Strife

DL Noleek Sonata of Ages Adagio Chapter 1: Cloud Strife, SOLDIER Recruit  
  
"I suppose there is some truth to that. My name is El Roe."  
-El Roe  
  
Cloud Strife sat hunched over in the corner of the train, his head pressed against the cool surface of the glass window beside him. The train was meandering its way through the tunnel, climbing steadily to the plate just below the Shinra Headquarters—it was a long hike. It had been several hours since Cloud had seen an open sky, which would probably account for the difficulty in breathing. He never would have considered himself claustrophobic, but then again, Nibielheim had nothing but mountains and wide open sky. The fact that he was crammed in the corner of a crowded railway car didn't help either. It was noisy and the heat from so many bodies crammed into confined quarters was nearly unbearable. Cloud had decided to join SOLDIER at age fourteen, despite the protests of his mother and his tiny town (Nibelhiem could scarcely be called a city). When the squad of SOLDIERS arrived at the inn only two weeks ago, he had eagerly followed five other boys from his hometown onto the truck heading toward Midgar. On the outside, he had left for the same reason the other five had: for the glory of becoming just like General Sephiroth. It was a good excuse, Cloud had no doubt of that—Sephiroth was a powerful figure in the eyes of the world. Sephiroth was not, however, his main reason for leaving. Nibelhiem, his home of fourteen years, simply was not the place for him anymore and the need to escape had been overpowering. There had to be more out there for him than the teasing and taunting from the other kids his age and his mother's home. Now he was beginning to believe that maybe his decision had been a bad move. Cloud had always been small for his age and despite the whip cord muscle that encased his body, he still looked frail. His sharp, angular, pixie-like face that he had inherited from his mother added to that softness, giving him an overall boyish appearance. The only thing that set off his elfin appearance were his eyes—two sharp blue orbs that seemed to glow softly with an inner icy flame. Tifa, a girl he had once tried to befriend, once claimed that his eyes had a mako-like glare to them. It was that glare that made some of the older boys think twice before picking on him. His mother said he had received them from his father; unfortunately, it was apparently the only thing he had acquired from his late father—that and his voice, high yet though it was. When they had first arrived at the gates of Midgar, the other recruits had simply ignored him, taking one glance at him and then just as abruptly dismissing him as someone of little consequence.  
Cloud could have remained invisible had it not been for some of his "friends" from home. They had begun to commingle with the other youths and after that, everyone openly sneered at him save a few who probably just didn't care. Yeah, it was going to be the longest four years of his life alright. He could only imagine what was being said about him.  
Given the uncomfortable situation, he had already begun to fiddle with the black ring on his right hand, humming softly under his breath. Both were bad habits, but nevertheless, it kept him calm for the time being.  
Holy, but he hated people like them. Boys like that only said things like that about others because they needed to feel the power of authority.  
And for some reason, he was the perfect target to unleash "authority."  
Hi s best bet was simply to ignore it all. Personal experience with such things dictated that either it would clear itself up or the subject would drop. Either way, there was nothing he could say that would not result in a thorough beating later. Besides, actions spoke louder than words and he would show them that despite his small stature, he was a force to compete with.  
Cloud reached for one of the poles as his body was thrown off balance by the train's deceleration. His other hand went to his eyes; the invasion of bright sunlight after so long was painful and it took a while for his eyes to adjust. The plate below HQ was not yet entirely covered by metal and there were several areas therein where sunlight and air flowed freely. Another perk of being a member of SOLDIER.  
The recruits around him began to gather their possessions and shuffle towards the double doors. Cloud, after a moment's hesitation, heaved a small sigh and followed suite, lifting his single duffle bag and a large, heavy bundle from the compartment above him.  
The station was teaming with activity. SOLDIERS returning from missions walked along the byways, chatting with comrades and unloading gear from the train's baggage cars. Here and there, medical teams tended to the wounded or performed routine checkups on those returning from certain areas. Along the walls were shops, vendors, and booths set up to attract the incoming units. In essence, it was the perfect example of organized chaos and Cloud couldn't keep his eyes from widening slightly at the sight. How different it was from Nibelhiem!  
Finally, he spotted a thong of new recruits in a line that weaved its way through the crowd, stemming from one of the booths on the back wall. Mumbling a few curses beneath his breathe, Cloud began to make his way to the group by shoving through the masses, apologizing ever so often to those he was moving aside. There were definite disadvantages to being short.  
He gasped when he finally made it through, nearly plowing the boy at the end of the line over with the momentum from his struggle. The other boy whirled around after the collision and Cloud suddenly found himself staring into a pair of murky green eyes.  
The boy involuntarily took a couple of steps back and Cloud got a better view of the person he had nearly run over. To his great surprise, the other recruit was not much bigger than himself—slight, lightly built, and obviously meant for agility rather than strength. Like himself, the boy had blond hair, only his sat neatly atop his head and was a shade darker than his own. The boy's features were thin, almost effeminate, but they were by no means soft. The face before him was all angles with high cheek bones, sharp chin, and straight nose; it was the face of a hawk.  
Green eyes narrowed into tiny slits and Cloud couldn't suppress the tiny shudder that danced up his spine. It wasn't necessarily fear that shook him, but the gaze was cold and foreboding.  
Great, he hadn't been here for ten minutes and already he'd managed to humiliate himself; that didn't mean that he had to be stepped on too.  
Cloud recovered his composure and stood up to his full height, which was still several inches beneath the other boy, but beggars couldn't be choosers.  
"I apologize for running into you," Cloud started, phrasing his words carefully. "I was in a bit of a hurry and couldn't see where I was going."  
A single blond eyebrow quirked up in response, but the boy remained silent and took another step back, this time hitting the next person in line.  
Cloud would have said more but the line began moving again and he decided to hold his tongue. If the other kid didn't want to speak it wasn't his problem. He really hadn't expected so much anyway and besides, it meant that he may not have problems later as a result of the incident.  
When he finally reached the front of the line, Cloud found himself before a SOLDIER member in the familiar blue uniform of the Shinra. He sat hunched over a pile of papers at an old wooden desk that looked like it had been saved from the scrap heap. He was tapping a pencil impatiently against the wood.  
The man glanced at him briefly before returning his gaze back to the leaning tower of paper in front of him. "Name," he muttered, his words barely audible above the dull roar of the station.  
Cloud resisted the urge to retch. By the King of Dragons himself, his breath was horrible! Cloud could swear that he must have downed several shots of alcohol that morning; the smell coated him! He'd had a couple of drinks in his short life, but not enough to get that drunk!  
"Cloud Strife," he managed. His stomach was beginning to feel queasy.  
  
The SOLDIER shuffled through his papers, mumbling something under his breath about his name being at the bottom of the stack. Still, it only took him moments to find the manuscript he had been seeking and he pulled it out to glance it over.  
"Cloud Strife, age fourteen from Nibelhiem. Mother is Odile Strife, father was Angard Strife—deceased. No brothers, no sisters, no other family—is this information correct?"  
Cloud nodded in confirmation and the SOLDIER peeled a card off the bottom of the paper and held it out to him. "This is your ID card. Do not loose it and keep it on you at all times. Your room number is 671. Your roommate should already be there. Dorms are located in the western part of the building. A schedule is posted on the dorm door."  
Cloud started to mumble a thanks, but the SOLDIER had already turned away to deal with the next recruit in line. He couldn't hold back a small smirk. Even though that SOLDIER had probably been the friendliest person he had bet since he started this journey, he was now an official member of SOLDIER.  
There were several maps situated around the winding iron hallways, but as before, Cloud didn't need them to find where he needed to be—he simply followed the steady stream of people all moving in the same direction. The compound was utterly cheerless. The iron walls gave the building a cold, foreboding air and the few lights that lit the hallways couldn't pierce the blackness that lay like a shroud over the inhabitants. All the hallways looked the same. The entire edifice seemed to be nothing more than walkways branching of the main byway, all of which in turn branched off into rooms behind iron doors. He also quickly realized why he would need an ID card; the cards served as keys to open the doors. Some of the recruits moved off from the group and went into rooms on the first floor while the others, Cloud included, were led to an equally disheartening stairwell. Seeing as his room number was 671, Cloud took a wild guess that he would find it on the sixth floor and began his ascent. By the time he reached the correct floor, there were very few people still climbing. He threw open the heavy door and pulled out his card. It wasn't hard to find room 671. It was in a corner near the very back of the building. He slid his card into the electronic lock and had the satisfaction of hearing the tumblers loosen. The room, like the rest of the building, was dark and plain. Two metal beds with white sheets, two dressers, two desks, and a lamp were the only pieces of furniture in the room, but Cloud hardly noticed the sparse accommodations. No, what caught his attention was the boy sitting on the bed near the wall with his arms crossed and his knees drawn into this chest. It was the boy from the line! Cloud entered the room cautiously, setting his gear on the unoccupied bed before slowly turning to face his new roommate. "Look, I'm not going to make you speak to me, but like it or not, you're stuck with me."  
The boy peered over at him from across the room, seeming to be considering his words. Whatever conclusion he reached, it worked in Cloud's favor. The boy uncoiled from his defensive position and got off the bed with an easy grace.  
"I suppose there is some truth to that," he said in a light and airy voice. "My name is El Roe."  
El Roe, huh? Unusual name, but then again, I've been called far worse.  
"Cloud Strife." Author's Comments:  
That was the first official chapter. I wanted to try and give a sense of Cloud's environment and perhaps a glimpse of his character as it stands at this point as well as introduce the character of El, who will play a rather large role in the story. There wasn't a whole lot of dialogue, but then again, large amounts of dialogue really didn't loan well to this chapter (there's more in the next one though for those who want to know). Please review, and I love constructive criticism. I've been know to rewrite whole chapters based on constructive criticism alone. 


	7. Adagio: Chapter 2: Morning Graces

DL Noleek

Sonata of Ages

Adagio: Chapter 2: Morning Graces

_"You could be a tad more grateful you know. I didn't have to carry you back here from HQ. I could have just let you collapse on the street—someone would have found your mako loaded carcass eventually."_

_ -Zack Ranguor_

_ First-class SOLDIER_

_The city nightlife: cars where whizzing past, lights igniting the sky in shades of yellow and orange. A cab rolled by, spraying water from a recent rain onto the sidewalk and drenching several unfortunate souls who happened to be in the water's path. Buildings arose out of the ground like weeds, slabs on concrete reaching for the stars in an attempt to mingle their dimly lit windows with the twinkling above. _

_A door, iron-wrought and latched tightly shut until the key is slid into place. Through the door and up several flights of steps, a hike amongst the bangings and slammings behind other sealed doors. The top of the staircase, the door in the middle—418. _

_/Where am I? /_

_/Have I been here before/_

_A simple space—kitchen and living room attached to a bedroom with a bathroom to the right. The only furniture that can be seen is a couch, TV, and a phone with a blinking light—several messages._

_/No, I haven't/_

_/Why? /_

_The place is made smaller by clutter. Signs litter the floor: PEACE, Prevent Watershed, VOTE for Clean Air. _

_Several staggering steps into the room to the right—an equally sparse bedroom. A single bed, softness, warmth, a fade to black. _

By Holy it hurt.

He didn't have to open his eyes to figure out where he had spent the night—the pain that incapacitated his body was indication enough of his current location. The heavy leather straps around his ankles, wrists, and stomach had been released, but there was still sweat coating him from head to foot; the fever that followed the injections must have just broke. It had been an intense night.

Everything else would be fine in a moment; it was just a matter of waiting it out. Yes, screaming would have provided a mild relief, and it would have been better than just sitting still, but he had done enough of that the previous evening—his throat was still raw.

A faint, coppery taste filled his mouth. Now that was a taste he hadn't awoken to in awhile—how bad had it been? It surely couldn't have been one of his better appointments with the good doctor.

/Don't want to remember. Far better just to block it all out. /

He had become very good at erasing his memory; it was easy to form mental blocks around events one did not want to recall. It was simply a matter of not dwelling on the hardship for several days and keeping it at the back of his mind. Voluntary memory loss was just as easy to achieve as it was to rid himself of the bad taste in his mouth.

Yes, it would be easy to clear his mouth of blood. There was a water fountain right outside the room as a matter fact—all he had to do was get up. If his ribs didn't hurt so much, he would have laughed at the thought.

/If only the troops could see this, the Great General Sephiroth lying in bed as weak as a kitten. Holy, I've got to get up. /

Despite the pain, he experimentally moved one leg from its prostate position, pushing the first limb over the edge of the bed and then the other. He sat up carefully, a wave of platinum hair cascading down his back and into his face as he attempted to pull himself into an upright position.

-Are you sure you should be doing that?

Sephiroth unconsciously glanced around. He still wasn't used to that voice, even though he had been hearing it for more than a year—if such a voice could be technically "heard." The voice had appeared the day after he received his first injection. To his knowledge, mako should not cause such problems, but it was the only solution he had been able to come up with; perhaps it was simply the amount of mako he was being exposed to.

/No one else can hear your damn voice, what makes me so special? /

He ignored the voice and eased himself onto his feet, using the wall for support as he made his way to the cell door. Just one foot in front of the other, that was all it took.

-Please, lie back down, Sephiroth. I know you are in pain. I can feel it.

Sure she knew—she knew everything. He knew for certain that the voice was a she, it was just far too delicate to be masculine. If anyone else could hear her, Sephiroth was certain that they would think the voice as tender and gentle as he had once thought. Now the voice only sent shivers raking through his body. The desire to crawl into a corner and hide was almost unbearable. A lesser man may have done just that.

Sephiroth grabbed his trench coat from where it hung on the wall and lurched through the door, meandering his way to the elevator. Normally, he would have taken the stairs, but quite frankly, he wasn't sure he would make it down sixty some flights of steps.

-Oh, go back to the lab. You would be so much more comfortable there.

Somehow, he highly doubted it. It was amazing how fascinating the changing of the lights in the elevator could be when one needed to stray from other thoughts—or annoying voices from inside the head, whichever the case may be.

Sephiroth grasped the rail beside him as the elevator finally reached the ground floor, the force of the gravity putting more pressure onto his rickety legs than he would have liked at that time.

The sound of voices on the other side of the door reached his ears before the thick metal doors even opened. Something beyond the barrier shattered—glass? Puzzled, Sephiroth pulled himself into a more solid position, pressing the button on the key pad that would signal the doors to open immediately.

A large crowd was creating quite a spectacle in the main lobby of the Shinra HQ, and a very familiar black-haired man was in the thick of it. Sephiroth groaned inwardly. The dark-haired man was weaving around various personnel in the lobby, narrowly avoiding their grasp as they tried to "kindly" show him the way out.

/Zack, what the hell are you doing? I swear, when I'm feeling well enough I'll—/

"She said she loved me, dammit!" Zack said, his speech heavily slurred—no surprise there.

"I'm sure she did," said a gentleman in a white lab coat. "But she certainly isn't here. Why don't you just come with me and—"

"But she said she worked here! Where—" Zack stumbled and knocked over a nearby chair.

/What is going on? Zack can be drunk, but this here is plastered./

There was another load crash as a rather expensive looking glass sculpture of a dragon in mid-flight fell crashing to the ground. A woman in a traditional black suite—the first floor secretary most likely—tried to grab a hold of Zack's arm, but only ended up with a bruise as she was smashed in the face from the black-haired man's flailing.

Sephiroth steeled himself and pulled himself completely upright so that he was supporting all of his weight. As humorous as the scene was, it was getting a little out of hand and a warm bed back at the house was starting to sound very good.

"Excuse me gentlemen, is there a problem?" Sephiroth fought a cringe; he hoped his voice was stronger than he felt and sighed in relief when he saw everyone pause to look at him. His presence alone had the desired effect: the fight was immediately stalled and everyone in the room took an involuntary step back with the exception of Zack.

It was ridiculous. One would think he was some vicious god come down from the heavens to smite them all. /Oh, well. There are perks to the position, might as well take advantage of them./

"What is the problem?" he repeated, trying to put as much ice into his voice as possible. The faster he got out of here, the faster he could go home and sleep off the mako.

The lab coat executive who had been trying to grab Zack when he came in took a step forward. "he just wandered in here General, as drunk as some sop from the lower sectors. It is not a problem you should have to contend with. He's most likely just some low ranked guard who wandered in from one of the bars near the barracks. We can take care of it."

/I'm sure you would, but if I left him with your department, it is likely that no one would ever see him again. Though at times, I'll give you that that may not be such a bad thing…and I reiterate, Zack what the hell do you think you are doing?/

"Nonsense, I am heading towards the barracks myself now. I'll just take him with me." Without waiting for a reply, Sephiroth brushed smoothly passed the scientist and grabbed onto the drunk's arm.

"But I must speak with her, I can't leave yet!" Zack swayed slightly, but kept moving forward without causing any trouble—not that Sephiroth anticipated any. He could feel the glares on his back as they left the building, but he didn't bother trying to readjust those looks; he was beat and the scum just weren't worth the effort.

Sephiroth managed to make it to the tunnel leading to the barracks before his knees gave out. He would have fallen had it not been for the pair of familiar strong arms that wrapped themselves around his waist to hold him up. Normally, the general didn't allow anyone that close to him, but Zack was an exception, especially now. This was not the first time Sephiroth had had to be physically dragged back to the barracks by his friend. After the first time, he had stopped protesting and accepted the help—much to his chagrin. He wasn't a touchy feely kind of person and he had an even harder time accepting help. Zack had lucked out the first time he had helped Sephiroth back from HQ, the general had been unconscious.

"Holy, Seph, what the hell did they do to you?" Zack grabbed his arm with his other hand and threw it over his shoulders, taking some of Sephiroth's weight.

Standing closer to the other man, Sephiroth could clearly smell the odor a cheap whiskey—not strong enough to get his friend sopping drunk, but hard enough to fool the execs back at HQ.

"I have no idea what happened last night Zack, all I know is that I woke up in a lab with a headache that was painful enough to keep me knocked out—" he paused. "Just what were you doing in there anyway?"

Zack grinned foolishly and shrugged. "Oh, I'm so sorry for worrying about you Mr. I'm the Great General Sephiroth and Therefore Invincible sir. How dare I think that a couple of Shinra lab junkies could harm you."

"It's not a big deal."

"Right, and that's why you look like you've visited Odin's Kingdom and lived to tell about it! Holy, it's why I'm half dragging you back to the barracks!"

Zack' rant was stopped when Sephiroth stumbled on a crack in the walkway. Damn, but he hated being so weak. If he could only shrug off his friend's arm and—

"Sorry," Zack said, his voice suddenly becoming more gentle. "I guess I just don't understand why you put up with it. Why live like a whipped dog when you are more than capable off walking away?"

It was a fair question, and it had its fair share of answers too. Maybe it was because he had no where else to go, or because except for the draining tests done to his body, the life suited him. It was very possible that the decision to stay had something to do with that voice in the back of his head, but he doubted that Zack would believe that excuse; Zack had enough to worry about without him adding the question of his mental stability to the mix—a factor which Sephiroth himself really wasn't sure of. It was why he settled for a more sane response.

"I'm a soldier." There, as simple as that. He could tell by Zack's low grumble that that wasn't the response he had been looking for, but this was not the time nor the place to discuss the issue, so his friend let it drop.

The two made their way out of the tunnel and into the dimly lit streets of the SOLDIER sector. Zack maneuvered them carefully towards the large structure at the corner of the first drive. I was one of the few 'houses' in Midgar—another perk of being general.

Sephiroth began fishing through his pockets as they neared the front door, but Zack stayed his hand.

"Don't bother, it's not a problem." Zack stretched up to his full height and reached for the brass key that was above the door frame. /That's right/ Sephiroth thought dimly. /I told him where to find the key weeks ago. I wonder if that was a mistake…/

After opening the door, the two men stumbled into the house, switching on lights as they went. Zack deposited Sephiroth on the couch, almost throwing the taller man onto the soft cushions.

"You'll have to crash here for the rest of the—" Zack glances at his watch, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, "—morning. I am not hauling your royal ass up a flight of steps."

"Lazy," Sephiroth retorted from his position on the couch.

"No, exhausted," Zack replied, moving away from the general.

"I'm making no comment there." /I must be beat, I'm actually teasing Zack. Not that he doesn't need it…/

Sephiroth recognized the sound of his closet door slamming and Zack returned promptly with a thick blanket, which he immediately unfurled over the other man's prone body.

"You could be a tad more grateful you know. I didn't have to carry you back here from HQ. I could have just let you collapse on the street—someone would have found your mako loaded carcass eventually."

"I'm sure that would have been—" Sephiroth stopped when he felt his stomach heave and he made a desperate motion, a slight flick of the wrist, to Zack who reached for a nearby trashcan.

The thick liquid that came out of Sephiroth's body was a faint green with an eerie glow to it—raw mako. His whole system was probably pumped with the stuff and he suddenly wished (and not for the first time) that he knew what was being done to his body in those labs. There was so much mako crawling through is veins that the substance was probably replacing his blood.

The heaving finally stopped nearly a minute later, stealing the remainder of his strength. The hands that were gripping the sides of the couch were shaking violently and much to Sephiroth's dismay, the room was beginning to sway like the distortions of an illusionist's mirror.

When Zack placed a comforting hand on his upper back , Sephiroth flinched. When they had first med during the war, both men had agreed to respect the other's personal space, though the deal was contrary to Zack's 'what's yours is mine,' philosophy. Sephiroth, needless to say, had had trouble with close contact most of his life; Zack usually left him alone.

Now, however, as earlier when he was carrying him back to the barracks, Zack's presence and the circular motion on his back was comforting rather than disturbing and Sephiroth did not pull away. Instead he allowed those gentle hands to guide his body back to the cushions and underneath the blanket. He placed full trust in the contact and allowed the warmth of another human being to sink through him.

Cloud cursed as the sound that was blazing through his head increased and he pulled his arm out from under his pillow to glance at his watch—five forty-five, it was too early to be up. Damn, but he just couldn't be late for his first day, now could he? Cloud sunk into the pillow just a little further, his stiff muscles reluctant to move even to turn off the incessant ringing of his watch alarm. There was not light streaming through a window to wake him up in the morning here, no smell of Mom's cooking to bribe him from precious sleep. There was, however, a doctor's appointment he had to get to in order to step foot into a classroom; a meeting with several of Shinra's scientists that he was not looking forward to.

Doctors were a species that he avoided on principle.

The second alarm on his watch went off and this time Cloud threw off the sheets and swung his legs over the bed, ignoring the brief shock of cold his feet experienced the moment they touched the cement floor. The room was a little cool, but not nearly as cold as an average day in Nibelheim. Compared to his hometown, Midgar was a tropical island—a tropical island that had kept him up half the night before because he'd been too warm and the hall had been too noisy. Even stripping down to his underwear hadn't helped stave off the heat.

Nibelheim was the light to Midgar's eve as far as he was concerned. In the base, the hall had never slept. People had walked up and down the halls from the time he went to bed to now. Cloud had not been able to tell what the occasion had been the previous night, but judging by the sound of retching coming from the other side of the door, several of the boys had been too far drunk to give him any information. To be honest, Cloud would not have been surprised to find one of his hall mates passed out in front of his door. Why people got totally plastered, he would never know. The only time he had been sick enough that he couldn't focus was when he had his first drink a year ago at thirteen—the drinking age in Nibelhiem. Never again—he preferred to keep clear mind and a quick wit. Drowning troubles in alcohol never solved anything.

Cloud did not even pause to spare a glance in the mirror at the unruly rat's nest on his head as he shoved his uniform over his head. It was more important to be dressed and ready. He had considered unstrapping his large buster sword from its holster the previous night, but had decided against it; there was little chance that he would need it so soon in his training and it would only raise more questions than he was willing to answer. Although he would have felt more secure with the comfortable weight on his back, it did make getting changed faster. He could skip the steps that consisted of attaching the large blade to the hooks on the sheath and just simply go straight from pants, to shirt, to boots, to the belt, and then out the door.

Or at least, it should have been that easy.

Just before leaving the room, the lump under the covers of the other bed let out a low moan as it shifted, a tiny hint of pale blonde hair spreading out over the pillow. Cloud stopped dead in his tracks and turned toward his roommate's sleeping form. As far as he knew, El would have to get up soon anyway and there was no alarm clock in the room to wake him. Unless he was able to wake himself up on his own, it was unlikely that he would make his first class.

Cloud did not know why the thought so much as crossed his mind, and he most certainly couldn't understand why he should care. El's classes were, after all, his own responsibility; Cloud wasn't his mother and it was doubtful that his coincidental companion would return the favor.

/But he hasn't done anything to warrant discontent either./

Another thought that didn't seem to fit, but there it was. A slightly irritated sigh escaped Cloud's lips as he turned towards El. He was about to reach beneath the Shinra issued green coverlet when it was suddenly thrown off by the sleeping boy. Cloud immediately halted, thinking El had gotten up on his own accord when the boy suddenly let another moan and turned toward.

Cloud covered his ears as El's body twisted once again and shut his eyes tightly. The wave of utter terror and panic that washed over Cloud's senses drove him to the ground as the ring around the finger of his right hand began to pulse with an erratic beat. When he looked at El's face, he was not surprised to find it twisted in agony with breaths coming in short gasps.

Never before had Cloud seen anyone suffer from such a nightmare—dreams were not that real. The way the blood was bounding through his veins, the hyper awareness of his senses, his glowing eyes—and he knew they were luminous, he could feel the slight burning—had never been worse. Cloud had felt the rush of power during storms, or when he was in the Nibel Mountains, but he had never received such a strong reaction from another person before. It was insane. He could not have gotten more of a head rush from jumping off a cliff; it fell like his entire body was plummeting.

The ring around his finger was beginning to burn and Cloud finally managed to squint through blazing eyes. El was still on the bed, flat on his back, the sheets wrapped around his limbs like a lover's arms, covered in sweat. Although his struggles had ceased, his brow was still furrowed as if in intense pain. Cloud tried to reach the sleeping boy, but clutched his head again as he moved closer to the bed.

Sound erupted out of nowhere, a cacophony the likes he had never heard before. It was a choir of screaming, tormented souls in a deep, minor, dissonant chord. Cloud did not think about the consequences. He automatically began searching for the melody beneath the havoc, his irritated hearing delving through the mass of notes and chords in order to find the structure of the song. Cloud felt a liquid warmth beneath his hands and he knew that his ears were bleeding from the noise.

Finally, he found it. The melody, though hidden beneath all the layers of dissonant harmony, was actually very simple, and Cloud sighed in relief. It wouldn't be hard to change them; a few notes to alter the dissonance. Yes, simple, and that was a relief; he was not sure he was up to a major composition right now and besides, something a bit harder might wake his slumbering roommate and that was the last thing he wanted while he was trying to attempt this. People already looked upon him as the bane of the planet, he did not need this added to that description.

Cloud removed his now blood drenched hands from his ears, wincing slightly as the barrier between himself and the hell-choir was removed. To his horror, he felt his body quake as the sound hit him full force and he had to struggle to keep from replacing his hands. Gritting his teeth, he began to hum softly under his breath, making sure that he was forming the right notes before raising the dynamics of his voice to something stronger. The harmony was perfect—Cloud grinned, it would be no trouble at all.

Cloud's voice slowly began to rise until his voice projected only slight above the nightmarish sound, switching from the harmony as he dominated the melody. Carefully, he began to twist the chords, adding slight inflections to make some of the more dissonant fifths fit into the pattern by adding a seventh or a stronger third. The melody radiating from El's mind morphed to Cloud's melody and Cloud was able to release his line softly before turning his voice to a gentle Nibelheim lullaby—a lilting piece that would ensure El remained in his unconscious state.

With the vicious noise silenced, Cloud was finally able to rise from his crouched position near El's bed. With a gentle hand, Cloud reached over and touched the crest of El's forehead. /What would cause a nightmare like that?/ he questioned silently.

It was as if El had been possessed. /The dreams seemed to physically hurt him…/ Cloud stopped and examined that thought for a moment. It seemed utterly ridiculous; nightmares weren't real. /Aren't they?/ The question pushed its way into his thoughts unbidden. This wasn't something he wanted to know the answer to at the moment, yet… /You yourself have had more than one or two that were all but real. It's just that no one ever thought to wake you up or ease the pain./

"El, what in Hades is going on?" Cloud muttered, his hand finally leaving the boy's head. "By Holy, how can a simple nightmare cause such a reaction…"

Cloud was suddenly forced to retreat several steps as the bundle under the covers moved. /At least he woke up on his own. Since I didn't wake him up, I won't be yelled at for interrupting his beauty sleep./

El's body shifted so that he was on his side facing Cloud and it was only moments before green orbs were blinking away the remains of sleep. For a moment, El's gaze wandered around, darting from one corner to the other before finally settling on Cloud's figure at his side. His face was still pale, whiter than the sheet he was laying on and Cloud had to resist the temptation to take another step closer to see if his roommate was alright. The last thing he needed right now was for El to faint on him; it meant he would have to be later for his appointment than he already was because he would then have to take care of him.

Damn his conscience.

The sheets that hung around El's shoulders shifted slightly, revealing some of the pale skin beneath it; the fabric's motion must have snapped El out of his stupor. Before Cloud could blink, El was suddenly snatching at the cover and drawing it tightly around himself.

"What are you doing?" he demanded in a choked hiss, the knuckles grasping the sheets whitening. "I thought you had an appointment this morning, shouldn't you be gone?"

/And since when is that any of his business where I am or am not supposed to be?/ "You were having a nightmare," Cloud stated simply with a slight nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "If you don't want me to worry about you, just say so and I let you suffer through the next one."

Cloud watched as El did the perfect impression of a wild animal caught in headlights—all motions ceased, yet his body remained tense and his eyes widened to the size of large, round coins. Cloud thought about laying a hand on the boy—he wasn't that far away—but instinct stopped him. If he placed so much as a finger on El now, he was positive that he would run, and yet at the same time, he felt that he should not leave right that second. And so he stood there, feet rooted in place, right in the middle of the room between their two beds. It was like two enemies spotting each other at the same moment in time along an abandoned road with weapons drawn, both soldiers too surprised to pull the trigger—a stand-off. Cloud wouldn't be the first one to fire; the next move, whatever it was, belonged to El.

It was several seconds before El broke free of his frozen state, but he visibly managed to relax his body, Cloud's vision picking up the slightest repositioning of his legs and the easing of the muscles in his back that were holding him rigid. El's hands, however, remained tightly clasped around the sheet as if it were a lifeline.

"How did you dispel the nightmare?—no one has ever been able to awaken me from it before." El's voice was barely audible, and Cloud winced as he heard the strain in it.

/It's raw from the screaming…/ Holy, he knew that feeling, the pain in the throat from prolonged suffering. He knew it all too well and wished he knew what caused it in El, but he wouldn't pry; it wasn't his business to pry.

/If I keep my mouth shut, he will stay out of my way No questions, no explanations./

Cloud grunted, finally taking that next step back and turning toward the door. It was time he made his appointment. If El was willing to ask questions, then he was alright. "I didn't do anything. I was just about to shake you when you woke up on your own. I did nothing."

Cloud was almost to the door when El's voice interrupted his departure. "Yes you did," came the soft reply. "You stopped my dream. They were coming again, but they didn't reach me this time. There was only darkness this time."

/How is that a big deal. And who is 'they'…? I don't have time for this! I helped him and that is enough. I probably shouldn't have even done that much./

Cloud was just about to close the door when El's voice came floating across the room one last time. "I thought I heard you singing."

That stopped the blue-eyed boy in his tracks. By Holy, he was not ready for that quite yet! He shouldn't have done it! He should have never opened his big mouth!

"It was strange—I didn't recognize the language. What did you do? How did you get into my head like that?"

There was something there, something in that voice that was setting off alarms in Cloud's head, but he didn't want to piece anything together right now. Every rational part of his brain was directed toward keeping himself calm.

Cloud didn't turn around again; if he did that, he may never make it out. It was a slim chance, but it was possible that if he avoided El, the subject would drop—highly unlikely, virtually impossible, but there wasn't another option. All it would take was several whispers in the right ears and he would be out of SOLDIER's training program so fast that he wouldn't have time to protest.

He was away from the clutches of those who wanted him in Nibelhiem, and he intended to keep it that way.

Besides, running was something he was remarkably good at. If he avoided his opposition long enough, they would eventually give up the chase. He'd done enough of it back home to make a career out of it.

"I have to go. I'm late for my appointment," he said, before closing the door firmly behind him and thus cutting off anything else El might have said. The dingy corridor stretched out endlessly in front of him, the flickering lights offering little illumination.

Somehow, the shadows were strangely comforting. It was a long walk down to the labs in the basement and with the dark patches scattered throughout his route, it was unlikely that the few bodies that had passed out in the hallways would remember his passing.

Author's Notes: There was supposed to be more after this, but this seems like a good place to stop. I considered describing Cloud's visit to the lab, but have decided against it…it just doesn't seem necessary. I also didn't proof read the last section, so I apologize for the mistakes that I know are there. I'll fix it later (if anyone spots one, let me know, it will save me the trouble of tracking it down later). I just really wanted to get these chapters out.

As always, let me know what you think.


	8. Adagio: Chapter 3: Midgar's Grim Reaper

DL Noleek

Sonata of Ages

Adagio

Chapter 3: Midgar's Grim Reaper

"I like my victims to be awake when I kill them Mika. I want them to know who is responsible for taking their life."

-Reno,

Midgar's Grim Reaper

Night had fallen upon Midgar's fifth sector, not that anyone could tell the difference; beneath the upper plate, it was always nighttime. The only difference between night and day was what the various clocks said upon walls in bars, inns, and the few "residencies" that dotted the city's underground. It was one of the reasons Midgar was never safe beneath the surface, yet that was just another uncontrollable factor, wasn't it? According to the local news, it was also raining in Midgar right now; good for the big guys upstairs, but no one else really gave a crap. Hell, there were people beneath the plate that didn't even know what rain looked like. The concept that water fell from the sky had never had much of an impact on the lower population; it was as big a myth as the bogeyman—oh wait, that last one was real…

Well, shoot, didn't that just beat all. The bogeyman was walking tonight too.

Reno jammed the butt of his cigarette into the earth beneath his feet, his worn brown work boots cutting off oxygen to smother the smoldering embers that still emanated from the lit end. To be honest, Reno hadn't wanted the 'job' tonight. He had a greater craving for alcohol than a thirsty man in the desert, just a great deal more vitality to achieve his goal. All he needed was a good bottle of the slum's cheapest rum in any tavern that would take his money—or any tavern that didn't want to put up a fight with a pissed-off piece of slum shit who hadn't had a good drink in—by all Holy, six hours!

Pushing his overly long red hair from his shoulders where it hung from a low queue in the back of his head, Reno began to make his way toward his destination, quickly making sure that the thin white case beneath his coat was still in place. The run-down apartments nearest the exit to sector five were only meters away now. Reno didn't even attempt to hide from the shadows that reached out to grab him as they darted around street corners in fear of the light. He was just as bad as they were—equally as tricky, just as silent, and a great deal more lethal despite his wiry frame. Besides, blood-red hair was not exactly conducive to hiding. A large neon sign with the words "Hey, over here," would not have had a greater effect.

Unfortunately, there was a point when Reno had actually been somewhat of a vain man, and he absolutely refused to try to cover it up with dyes—not that they would take anyway.

Reno stopped just below an open window on the third floor and shook his head, smiling slightly at the stupidity. /You'd think after a life-time in the slums, locking doors and windows would be part of that street-wise common sense. Oh well, guess not. Makes it easier on me. /

With a silent, practiced motion, Reno removed the thin white case from its pocket beneath his jacket and after hitting a few choice switches that decorated the outside, opened up the case. Inside were all the tricks of his trade. Several wires of varying lengths and thickness were wrapped around the inner part, still gleaming as if they were newly purchased—and some of them were, he had had to replace a couple not too long ago. Nestled between the wires, like birds in a nest, were two sets of sharp, silver stilettos, their points dagger-sharp and well cared for. Next to them were his lock picks, a ring of them that he had fastened himself. Reno's hand hovered over the small switch at the bottom of the box—no he wouldn't need to release the hidden drawer. Poison shouldn't be necessary for such a simple job.

After a moment of consideration, Reno removed two of the wires and placed them on his belt loop. Both sets of stilettos were then latched onto his person, the first set going into the holders up his sleeves, the last two going into his boots beside his daggers.

It always helped to be prepared for anything.

Once everything was secure, he slowly made his way along the old stone wall, tapping each block as he passed. It only took him a moment to find the right section; he had remembered the location almost exactly.

With deft, slim fingers, he began to feel along the cracks, going up on tiptoes to reach the sections that were just out of his reach—the door was a high one. Reno paused with one finger still on one end of the gash on the wall, a section that was almost even with his nose, and pulled out the thinner of the two wires. He then inserted the end into the crack and began searching for the catch that he knew was there. Carefully, he began to jiggle the wire, moving it up and down until he reached a spot that was a few centimeters from where he had started—there was a soft click and the wall jutted out just enough for him to get a good grip on the stone and pull it out.

Reno couldn't suppress the cough that rattled through his chest when the dust rose from the newly revealed hole in the wall. Apparently Mika hadn't known about this passage when he had settled there; it hadn't been used in years.

After the dust cleared enough for him to see clearly, Reno moved through and found himself in a small empty room with cement floors and a single light dangling from the ceiling that refused to light up when Reno pulled on its string—a basement. Reno wrinkled his nose. It smelled like mildew.

Much to his chagrin, the only conceivable way out besides the way he came in was a rickety looking set of steps that led up to the next floor. Growling softly in irritation, Reno cautiously placed one foot on the first step and promptly began cursing.

/Damn, probably several decades worth of termite damage on these…/ Suddenly, the banister broke underneath his left hand with a loud snap. /Shit! /

There was scuffling upstairs—two sets of footsteps right over his head.

"Hey, did you hear something?" the voice was only meters from the door.

"No," came a second voice, slightly slurred. "You're imagining things. There's nothing down that hole but rats. That's what you heard you Jack."

Reno heard the sound of a latch being released above him and he eased off the lower step as his hands crept closer to the stilettos up his sleeves.

"We should probably give it a look anyway though. Mika won't like it if we don't."

"Fine, fine, we'll go down and visit the rats." There was the sound of something being set down and despite the situation Reno grinned. /I know the sound of a half-full bottle of gin anywhere. This one's my kind of man. A pity he's working for Mika. /

Light flooded in as the door was pushed open with a loud squeal. "Jeez, when was the last time this thing was opened? And it's blacker in here than Hell at midnight!"

/Ah, how perceptive of you. The better to see _you_ with my dears. Thank you for leaving the door open for me too…how kind. /

The two goons didn't stand a chance. In one motion, Reno pulled his weapons free of their holsters and launched them at his two would-be assailants. Just before the impact, both faces registered a glimpse of shock, and Reno was sure that they had spotted him, but it was by far too late; it always was.

Reno walked calmly up the steps toward the door and knelt beside his first victims of the night, pulling his stilettos free of their necks. Frowning, he wiped the two small knives clean before putting them back up his sleeves.

/Now see what you made me do? I had to go and get my toys dirty. I wasn't planning on using these tonight you know, / he thought, while shaking the two pieces of metal at one of the corpses.

No matter, it wasn't like they didn't deserve to die and he always cleaned all of his toys after a job. But still, they shouldn't have come to check on him—they only had themselves to blame for their deaths.

Reno stepped over the two corpses and made his way up the rest of the steps. The first level of the old apartment building was a mess. The only furniture in the old lobby was a table with a few chairs around it—and the bottle of gin that one of the goons had set there earlier.

Reno walked over to the table and snatched up what was left of the gin, downing it in only a few gulps. He sighed as the burning sensation filled his mouth and ignited a fire as it tumbled down his throat. /Ah, excellent…Midgar's finest. / He put the bottle back where he found it, glad that it hadn't gone to waste. Now, perhaps, he could complete his job in a better mood.

His next destination was the third floor, but judging by the shadows moving in the hallway, there were guards near the stairs too—not a problem. Reno did a quick sweep of his surroundings and found that the first floor wrapped around, the lobby connecting to the kitchen which in turn connected to the front entrance near the steps. All he had to do was get the guards away from their post for a moment.

Sauntering into the kitchen, Reno's eyes fell on a gas stove and he had to stuff down the urge to laugh maniacally. /Oh, they are making this way too easy on me! If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Mika was asking me to slit his throat! All right, one toasty fire, here we come! /

Reno wasted no time in igniting the gas stove. Once the gas was on high, he removed a ragged dish cloth from the oven door and threw it on the stove top, calmly moving behind a wall near the stairs as the smoke from the burning material spread throughout the house. Surely these guards would have at least enough common sense to put out the fire—if not, well, perhaps he could just leave through the front door and let Mika burn to death.

"Do you smell that?" came a voice from near the stairs.

"Smells like something burning…the kitchen, quick, move!"

/Oh the stupidity…/ With those thoughts, Reno swung around the corner of his hiding place and quickly made his way up to the third floor. There were no lights on the top floor, but that didn't deter him in the slightest. There was enough light from the staircase to provide enough illumination to maneuver in; besides, he was used to dark places. He was a slum rat after all. The dark had stopped sending shivers up his spine when he was about three.

An intelligent man would have chosen the room furthest from the stairs and changed it every night if he was being hunted, but Reno refused to give him that much credit. Mika would choose the room closest to the dinner table—it was also likely that he was the idiot who left the window on the third floor wide open.

Drawing his dagger out of his left boot, Reno pushed open the first door on his right. Sure enough, it was the room with the open window. There was a little illumination coming from the streetlights outside, enough to reveal a large-four poster bed almost directly under the pane. Mika's fat carcass was on its back, snoring loudly enough to muffle any sounds a less experienced assassin might make.

Reno wasn't a novice assassin. His motions were entirely silent, the floorboards not daring to let lose a single squeak even though they were likely more than twice Reno's age. He put his back toward the window, leaving himself enough room to escape if it was needed and a clear view of the door should anyone decide to come plowing through it. His left hand was ready to make a move for the stiletto up his right sleeve should he have to defend himself from this distance.

His eyes glanced around the room and Reno felt disgust building in the pit of his stomach. It had to be one of the gaudiest things he had ever seen. Several bad nature paintings hung on the wall, depicting tranquil forests, rushing streams, and high mountains. Although he had never seen any of these features, Reno was willing to bet that none of them were accurate—it wasn't possible for anything in Hell to be beautiful.

The floor was littered with pottery—imitations of real Wutaian art that were most likely pieces of junk crafted in one of Midgar's higher plates. They were nothing more than something Mika would pawn off to some innocent consumer in the slums, getting up someone's hope of selling the pottery to get money and a ticket out of the hole in the ground Shinra called a city.

Reno hated a sham operation. No one had the right to try to brighten the slums in such a way—life sucked, deal with it. This made him want to kill Mika even more. Normally, Reno felt a small stab of reluctance when he was sent out on a job, but this…he was taking something from people who couldn't afford to give any more. Killing was his job, and he always completed his tasks, no mater what his feelings were on the matter, but Mika…

Reno poked the fat man's belly with the butt of his dagger, jabbing him hard enough to wake up even the worst city drunk from his stupor. Mika shifted slightly and his beady gray eyes, still full of sleep, opened with painful slowness. They were wide-awake, however, when his eyes finally fell on Reno with is dagger against his throat.

"I like my victims to be awake when I kill them Mika," Reno said with deathly serious tone. He inched the blade further into Mika's flesh, parting his fatty hide to let loose a single rivulet of crimson. "I want them to know who is responsible for taking their life."

Mika's breath quickened has he began to panic, his chubby body beginning to struggle beneath the assassin's knife. "Reaper…" was all he managed.

Reno grinned. "Yes Mika. Don Coreno has requested your death. It's time for you to pay your dues."

"You can't be the Reaper," Mika gasped, crying a little now.

"Oh, and why not?" Reno whispered, using a tone that always seemed to induce frightful shutters from those whose life he was about to steal. He wasn't disappointed—fat coward.

"Because…Holy, you can't be more than thirteen…no more than a child…"

Reno almost laughed. It was such a common mistake. "Mika, you grew up here, you should know better. There are no children in Midgar. Children die too quickly."

There were sounds on the steps outside and voices echoing from the floor beneath him. Reno's grip tightened around his dagger. "It's been a pleasure Mika, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go now. Know that sector five now belongs to The Don." With a swift downward motion, Reno severed the main artery in Mika's neck, killing him cleanly.

Slipping the bloody knife back into his boot, Reno pulled out the thicker wire and with a practiced eased, knotted one end around the bedpost and threw the other end out the window. Grasping the piece of metal in both hands, Reno began to inch himself out the window, but paused once just before exiting.

"Oh, and Mika. For the record, I'm sixteen."

A commotion had just begun in the hallway, and figuring that he had overstayed his welcome, Reno leaped out the third story window and onto the street below. Once his feet were on firm ground again, he gave the wire a sharp tug and the whole thing came tumbling down.

Reno quickly did a mental once over to make sure that he had left nothing behind and then calmly sauntered down the alleyway. He still had to report to Coreno—yet another pompous ass in one of Midgar's high positions—and let him know that his target was dead.

After that, he could finally get back to his own little shit-hole in the slums and grab something stronger than the gin he had had earlier. Besides, Prim was waiting for him at home.

Author's Note: My depiction of Reno, need I say more. I hope I've shed enough light to give everyone an idea about his character and withheld enough to keep it interesting.

As always, I like reviews and I am STILL looking for a beta reader…


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